


these wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real

by blurring_the_lines



Series: collection [21]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, BTW, Depression, I'm Sorry, Read at Your Own Risk, Self-Harm, im in an Angst Mood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurring_the_lines/pseuds/blurring_the_lines
Summary: tw: self harm, depression.v angsty, Percy has a nightmare
Series: collection [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041193
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	these wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: SELF HARM, DEPRESSION

Percy woke from a nightmare, an hour after he had finally fallen asleep (the first hour of sleep he had gotten in three days). He’s disoriented and groggy and sick to his stomach. He’s thinking about all the loss and the blood and the tears. He doesn’t remember how it happens, but he’s in the bathroom and he’s vomiting. He’s vomiting until he can’t anymore (and even then, he keeps going). Riptides in his pocket (because ever since the- not one, but two wars- he never sleeps without it). He pulls it out, and his hands are shaking, and he’s not exactly sure what he’s doing- no, not really, it just feels like something he needs to do. He uncaps it, carefully (his hands are like mini earthquakes, sending vibrations throughout his whole body). When it makes contact with his skin and it starts to bleed, he doesn’t like it. It doesn’t release or feel good, or help in any way, no, it just _hurts_. But he keeps going. He still doesn’t know why, it’s like something on the edge of his consciousness, whispering, muttering, shouting. And, it’s there all the time, it’s not leaving him alone. The salty water that drips from his irises, mixes with the red and turns it a pinkish color. He can’t breathe, and seeing his blood pool around his arm and onto the bathroom ground makes him nauseous and dizzy. He’s not too worried about the blood, because he can take a shower, and the water will help, and it’ll help with the mess, too.

He passes out. He’s not sure how long he just sat there, thinking, before he does, but it happens.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t remember what happened the night before until he sees Riptide discarded on the bathroom floor. His hands start shaking (again), but he manages to clean it off and cap it, putting it in his pocket. The sun hasn’t risen yet, so Percy knows that nobody has woken up. He quietly cleans up the mess and gets in the shower. He scrubs and scrubs until his skin is red and raw, and he gets out, but it’s not because he feels clean (because he doesn’t), it’s because he’s _so tired_. He discards his (blood-stained, ripped-up) tee-shirt into the nearest trash can.

He gets into bed, pulling the covers over him, staring at the ceiling until he hears the harpy’s go to bed and the conch horn blows.


End file.
